


A Widow's visit

by Atlas_the_Author



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Christmas angst specifically, Gen, Overwatch christmas comic, Thank you blizzard for ripping out my heart, That panel with Widowmaker just struck a real chord with me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 14:33:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8987827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atlas_the_Author/pseuds/Atlas_the_Author
Summary: It's been years, decades, since the murder of Gerard Lacroix and the "disappearance" of  his wife Amelie. But still, every year on the anniversary of his death, he gets a visitor.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So that overwatch comic huh? Yeah, I'm still not over what i saw in it. Tracer being a lesbian was awesome and all but the little panels of other heroes and what they do at Christmas time was what really stuck with me. Especially Widowmaker's. So that's where this fic comes in because I have no self control and more fic ideas than motivation to actually work on them all.

Peaceful and silent.

It was the only words the woman could find to describe the scene before her.

Snow fell all around her, quietly fading into the surroundings and adding to the piles already growing on the ground. The woman pulled up her scarf and adjusted her coat to keep the cold at bay. It was for show, of course, since she couldn’t actually feel the cold in the air. But the less amount of prying eyes, that she pretended not to notice, the better. She let out a sigh and watched as the small white cloud disappeared just as quickly as it formed.

 **‘This is ridiculous’** Widowmaker thought as she stood across from a headstone that was clearly beginning to show its age. **‘Every year it’s the same song and dance. Nothing changes.’**

Widowmaker placed her hands in her pockets, shifting her eyes lower. They landed across the name engraved into the headstone.

_Gerard Lacroix_

“It’s pitiful,” Widowmaker said aloud. There was no one around now, no one to hear but herself. “It’s pitiful that the one thing I still feel compelled by are my visits here.” She huffed and the cold cloud of breath lingered just a little longer than the last.

Minutes passed as Widowmaker stood there. Silent and still as the air around her while only letting the occasional snowflake disturb her enough to brush her shoulders or flatten out her coat. She kneeled in front of her former husband’s grave and stared deeply at the engravings. She reached out to place a hand on the cold stone and registered that it actually felt warmer than her own skin.

“I hate this, you know.” Widowmaker admitted to no one. “I hate that something draws me here when I should be working with Talon. I hate that day. I hate everything about its anniversary.” Widowmaker paused, thumbing something in her coat pocket while intensifying her death glare at the immobile rock with her former husband’s name on it.

“But most of all I hate that I still don’t regret it.” Widowmaker’s hands balled into fists and she grit her teeth. “I barely remember that moment but what I do remember is that I didn’t even flinch. There were so many emotions in me that day that just… died.”

“Even today, so long after everything was said and done, this is just habitual. I’m not here looking for peace. I don’t care for closure. I got that the minute I pulled the blade across your throat and went back to Talon.” Widowmaker sighed again, letting her fists unclench. “You weren’t the only one who died that day Gerard, Amelie died too. Talon took her away and put me in her skin and yet I can’t tell you she’d regret what’s been done. And I hate that.”

Silence took over again as Widowmaker pulled a small, red rose out of her coat and tossed it on the grave. Snow collected around it and Widowmaker watched for a long time as the red of its petals became smothered in white.

It was empty, blank whiteness. Colorless snow snuffing out such a vibrant color

 _“Comment convenable.”_ Whispered Widowmaker. A small gust of wind drowning out the sound of a chuckle. _“Joyeux Noël, Gérard.”_

Widowmaker turned on her heel and began a slow walk out of the cemetery. One last time, just before passing that gates, did she turn back to Gerard’s grave and hold her gaze. Something in her called to her near-still heart. Begging that the sight could change something. That some type of emotion would return to her.

But of course, nothing changed. She felt nothing.

A spider feels no emotion.


End file.
